Why some Colombians call their mothers ‘your grace’

After Altair Jaspe moved from Venezuela to the Colombian capital Bogotá, she was surprised at the way she was addressed when she walked into a store, cafe or doctor’s office.

In a city that was once part of the Spanish Empire, she was no longer “señora,” as she would have been called in Caracas, or perhaps, in her younger years, “muchacha” or “chama.” (Venezuelan terms for ‘girl’ or ‘young woman’.)

Instead, all around her, she was given an honorary title that seemed more appropriate for a woman in a cape and crown: Your Grace.

Does your mercy want coffee?

Will your mercy accept the appointment at 3 p.m.?

Excuse me, mercy, people said to her as they walked through a doorway or elevator.

“It automatically took me to the colonial era,” said Ms. Jaspe, 63, a retired logistics manager, who expressed her initial discomfort with the phrase. “To horses and carts,” she continued, “perhaps even to slavery.”

“But after I experienced it,” she continued, “I understood.”

In most of the Spanish-speaking world, the main ways of saying “you” are the informal “tú” and the formal “usted.” But in Colombia there is another ‘you’ – ‘su merced’, which means ‘your grace’, ‘your grace’ or even ‘your worship’, now contracted into the more economical ‘sumercé’.

(In some parts of the Spanish-speaking world, another “you” is used: the hypercasual “fox.”)

In Bogotá, a city with eight million inhabitants located in the Andes Mountains, ‘sumercé’ is ubiquitousdeployed not only by taxi drivers and shopkeepers to serve customers (how can I help your grace?), but also by children to refer to parents, parents to refer to children, and (sometimes with tender irony) even by husbands, wives and lovers to refer to each other (“would your grace pass the salt?” or “your grace, what do you think, should I wear these pants today?”).

It is used by young and old, by city dwellers and rural dwellers, by the most recent former mayor of Bogotá (“trabaje juiciosa, sumercé!”, she was once captured on camera shouting at a street vendor: “get to work, mercy!”), and even by the frontwoman of one of the country’s most famous rock bands, Andrea Echeverri of Aterciopelados.

The Spanish founded Bogotá in 1538 after a brutal conquest of the indigenous Muisca people, and the city quickly became a center of colonial power.

‘Sumercé’ is indeed a relic of that era, and scholars have documented its use as a sign of politeness in institutional relationships (a letter from the governor of Cuba to the conquistador Hernán Cortés in 1518); a sign of respect in families (one brother-in-law to another in 1574); and especially as a sign of servitude of slaves or servants to their masters.

But contemporary proponents of ‘sumercé’ say its current popularity lies in the fact that it has lost that hierarchical edge, and today means respect and affection, and not deference or a distinction of social class.

Ms. Jaspe said she eventually came to see “sumercé” as an informal term of endearment, as in “sumercé, qué bonito le queda ese sombrero.” (“Your grace, how beautiful that hat suits you.”)

After Colombia gained independence from the Spanish in the early 19th century, ‘sumercé’ persisted in the Boyacá department, a lush agricultural area in central Colombia just north of Bogotá.

Jorge Velosa, a singer-songwriter and famous voice of Boyacá (he once played Madison Square Garden in the region’s traditional wool poncho known as a ruana) recalled that “sumercé” in his childhood home was the way he and his brothers and sisters referred to their mother, and their mother referred to them.

“Sumercé,” he said, was a kind of middle ground between the stiff “usted” – used only in his house as an introduction to a scolding – and the almost overly nonchalant “tú.”

Eventually, ‘sumercé’ migrated south to Bogotá along with many Boyacenses, becoming as much a part of the lexicon of central Colombia as ‘bacano’ (cool), ‘chévere’ (also cool), ‘parce’ (friend ), “paila” (difficult), “qué pena” (sorry) and “dar papaya.” (Literally: “give papaya,” but more figuratively: “act unconsciously.” As in: “Your grace, do not act unconsciously on the street, you will be robbed!”).

For the most part, “your grace” has remained a hallmark of central Colombia, and is rarely used on the country’s coasts, where “tú” is more common, or in cities like Cali (“vos”) and Medellín (“tu ‘). “usted” and sometimes “vos.”)

But in the capital and surrounding areas, ‘sumercé’ is emblazoned on hats, pins and T-shirts and incorporated into the names of restaurants and markets. It’s the title of a new documentary about Colombian environmentalists. And it’s celebrated in songs, podcasts and Colombian Spanish lessons on Spotify and YouTube.

“Right now it doesn’t mark a social class,” said Andrea Rendón, 40, from Bogotá. “We are all sumercé.”

A recently released one video clip‘Sumercé’, by rapper Wikama Mc, epitomizes the folk-cool status the expression has achieved.

In a house party scene that could take place virtually anywhere in the Colombian Andes, the artist wears a ruana as he celebrates the “Colombian flow” of the female object of his affection, whom he brags about “dancing carranga” – folk music popularized by Mr. Velosa – and also reggaeton, modern party beats popularized by international mega-celebrities like J. Balvin.

“Talk to me honestly, sumercé,” he raps, before offering his girlfriend a hearty tip of his traditional felt hat.

The song has been viewed more than 18,000 times since it was uploaded to YouTube in December. Impressive, considering the artist has 500 followers on the platform.

Ms. Echeverri, the rock star, linked her use of the phrase to a punk aesthetic, which pursues a “horizontal” relationship with ordinary people. (In a recent one video interview she used it to bring the program’s host closer, talking about a remake of one of “those songs your grace may have heard so many times.”)

Sumercé, she explained in a separate interview, “is affectionate, but also respectful.”

Of course, not everyone sees it that way. Carolina Sanín, a well-known writer, has criticized those who argue that “sumercé” is so ubiquitous in Colombia that it should be uncritically embraced as a cultural norm.

Even in a region known for its stark inequality, Colombia’s class divides remain deeply entrenched. It takes the average poor Colombian eleven generations to reach the national median income, according to the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, two more than in Brazil, three more than in Chile and five more than in Argentina.

Decades of violence have strengthened these barriers, allowing a small group to amass capital and territory. For some, “sumercé” can feel like a perpetuation or even a celebration of these hierarchical relationships.

“Not paying into the social system and accumulating land are also called ‘our habit’.” Ms Sanín wrote on Twitter.

“Words matter,” she continued. “With words, paths to justice are forged.”

A linguist in Bogotá, Javier Guerrero-Rivera, recently surveyed 40 Colombian university students and found that 85 percent said they were not bothered by the term, and felt a sense of respect and tenderness when it was addressed to them. Another 10 percent felt indifferent to the phrase. Only 5 percent said the term was dismissive or made them uncomfortable.

Juan Manuel Espinosa, deputy director of the Caro en Cuervo Institute, which is dedicated to studying the peculiarities of Colombian Spanish, said he believed that the social divisions described by people like Ms. Sanín were precisely what led many Colombians to the word attracted.

“’Sumercé’ is a way to create connection in a very fragmented society,” he said.

Jhowani Hernández, 42, who operates office cleaning machines, described using “your grace” with his wife, Beatriz Méndez, 50, a housekeeper, “cuando me saca la piedra” (Colombian for “when she makes me angry”) but most of all “ para dar cariño” (“to show affection”).

Still, Daniel Sánchez, 31, a documentary filmmaker in Bogotá, said he moved away from using “sumercé” after he started thinking about “the whole background of the expression,” which means “that slavish and colonialist thing that doesn’t so is’. cool.”

Now when he wants to convey respect and affection, he uses a different, less charged Colombianism: ‘Veci’, which simply means ‘neighbour’. As in: “Veci, don’t give papaya on the street, you will be robbed.”

Simón Posada reported from Bogotá.